


visitation

by roguerey



Series: it takes time (but we're getting there) [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: (Wow that's a tag?), (kinda), (mostly comfort), (newt loves hermann too but he's also dealing with a lot of other things right now), Battlestar Galactica References, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mako Mori Lives, Newt Geiszler Recovery Arc 2kImmediately, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Post-Uprising, hermann loves newt a whole lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 11:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14135205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguerey/pseuds/roguerey
Summary: one of hermann's regular visits to see newt post the events of uprising





	visitation

**Author's Note:**

> so basically as soon as i left the theater i wanted to read a fic exactly like this with just lots of physical comfort and hermann helping newt. so i just said "hell, i'll write it myself if i have to." so this is that fic. enjoy!

There is no one else in sight as Hermann walks down the long corridor to the room where they are detaining him. _Them. No, him. Newton._ Hermann corrects himself. Newton, his lab partner of many years, pen-pal of even more, friend of too many to count. Newton, who for some reason beyond Hermann’s comprehension, insists on eating any food that he physically can with chopsticks. Newton, who stupidly, rebelliously, tattooed the forms of murderous alien monsters onto his skin just to get a rise out of people. _No, that isn’t why he did it._ Hermann knows better than that. Newton, who regularly observed “casual friday” in the lab each week back in Hong Kong, as if he could possibly get more casual than the jeans and sneakers he typically wore. Newton, who considered “dude” a proper honorific for coworkers and superiors. _Fortune favors the brave, dude._ Newton, who had a pattern of stealing food marked “Gottlieb” from the lab refrigerator and gave a poor attempt at an innocent puppy-dog face whenever confronted. Newton, who listened to Carly Rae Jepsen so loud in the lab that the entirety of the PPDC staff walked around humming the tunes to songs from _Emotion_ for weeks. Newton, who once, after losing a bet with Tendo, wore a crop top to work one day and called Marshall Pentecost a fascist when he was asked to go change. Newton, with whom he had corresponded for years before ever meeting in person. Newton, who he had shared his mind with. _He shared it with something else as well. No, don’t think about that right now._ Newton, who had no definition of the word “impossible.” Newton, who never backed down from a challenge. Newton, who didn’t think twice about his own safety before initiating a drift alone with _that thing_ because he thought he could learn something that would help save humanity. Newton, who was right. Newton, who was also so very wrong, _but he hadn’t know it yet then_. Newton, with whom he had helped prevent the apocalypse. Newton, who grinned up at him with something of a promise in his eyes when the war clock hit zero. Newton, whom he trusted. Newton, who is his friend.

Hermann is not afraid.

Of course, there are people who tell him that he should be. Many of them, in fact. Hermann is fully aware of the glances he has been receiving lately. He is also aware of the conversations that seem to stop abruptly these days when he enters a room. The guilty looks on the faces of Ranger Pentecost and Ranger Lambert. The sympathetic looks he receives from his colleagues who don’t pretend to understand, but at least don’t begrudge him for it. The other types of looks he receives from those who are not as quick to sympathize.

There is a singular guard on duty today outside of the room where Newton is being detained. He gives Hermann a nod and an expression impossible to read as he punches the code into the keypad that unlocks the door. “Thirty minutes max.” the guard says as the door swings open, “knock when you’re ready to be let out again.” Hermann nods in accord, and takes a deep breath as he crosses the threshold into Newton’s cell.

At first glance, Newton is nowhere in sight, and Hermann’s stomach drops in fear. Then he notices the blanket-covered heap piled on top of the small, military-issued cot in the far corner of the room. Newton is sleeping.

For a moment, he considers leaving. He does not know how much sleep Newton is getting on average these days, but he doubts it is much. A feeling almost like relief washes over him when he realizes Newton is finally getting some rest. He pivots to exit, but before he can take a step forward, he hears a faint voice call “Hermann?”

He quickly turns around, and at the last minute remembers to school his face into an expressionless mask. It is too soon to tell if this is truly Newton speaking to him, or if the Thing That Is Not Newton is the one addressing him, as is the case more often than not. He takes one tentative step toward the bed.

"Newton, is that you?” he asks carefully.

“Yeah Herms, it’s me. Who else would it be? Definitely not a bloodthirsty race of alien colonizers who have been overriding my mind and free will for the past ten years.” he chuckles weakly.  

“ _Newton.”_ Hermann breaths out a sigh of relief. Over the past two weeks since the kaiju event he had gradually become an expert at telling whether it was truly Newton or the Thing That Was Not Newton speaking. One of the first things he learned was that, as it turns out, Precursors don’t have much of a sense of humor.

“I apologize if I woke you.” Hermann says as he walks over closer to the cot.

“S’ok Herms, I wasn’t sleeping.” Newton’s speech is slow and slurred, so disconcertingly different from the rapid-fire, animated manner of speaking that Hermann had grown accustomed to over the many years of knowing him. When he is lucid enough to express such thoughts, Newton describes it like being underwater. Like he can see himself and everyone he knows just above the surface, but there is someone holding his head down, keeping him from ever coming up for air.

This is what good days are like. They do not come often.

“Are you sure? I can let you rest and come back later, if you’d like” Hermann says as he sits down gently on the edge of the cot.

“ _No_ ” Newton’s eyes snap open and behind the haziness (a product of the antipsychotic medications Newton requested he be put on) Hermann sees a flash of fear as Newton reaches out with one hand to gasp at the collar of Hermann’s coat. “Please...don’t leave.”

Hermann takes Newton’s hand from his collar and holds it in both of his own, rubbing the back of it with his thumbs in the way that he knows calms Newton down.

“Shhh, it’s ok, Newton. I’ll stay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Newton closes his eyes again and visibly relaxes.

“Thanks Hermann.”

They sit in silence then, Hermann rubbing Newton’s hand reassuringly while Newton lays back with his eyes closed, breathing slowly and deeply.

“How are you feeling today?” Hermann asks after a few moments have passed.

“Like Boomer.” Newton mumbles.

“Like _what_?” Hermann asks. Newton’s lucidity, when he is present in himself, has been inconsistent at best over the past weeks, and Hermann often finds himself having to work hard to keep him focused on a singular train of thought.

“Battlestar Galactica, dude.” Newton responds. “You know, Boomer. Cylon sleeper agent. But of course, she doesn’t know that. She just thinks she’s like, doing her job. Helping people, you know?”

“I’m afraid I never watched that series, Newton.” Hermann says. He’s concerned that this line of conversation is headed towards a direction that is potentially upsetting for Newton, which is something he would like to avoid during this visit. For the sake of Newton’s peace of mind, for one thing, but also because Hermann has come to learn that an increased state of mental agitation creates favorable conditions for the things in Newton’s head to take the reins.

“S’funny, you know. Because, I always saw myself as more of a Gaius Baltar-type, right? But, I mean, hopefully way less of a dick about it. Although, who knows. I guess we have the whole being-a-traitor-to-the-human-race-and-almost-bringing-about-the-complete-destruction-of-humanity thing in common now. Huh...guess I turned out more Baltaresque than I hoped.”

“ _Newton._ ” Hermann says firmly but not unkindly.

Newton falls silent.

“Would you like me to read to you?” Hermann asks after a moment. For the past two weeks, he has been attempting an array of various approaches and methods to try to find things that helped Newton stay present in his mind or, if not that, to at least feel a greater degree of comfort for the time being. One thing he had been trying was bringing Newton books, magazines, and publications that Hermann knew he liked in an attempt to ground his personality more. Whether or not it is successful on that front, Hermann believe it’s too soon to tell. It does, however, seem to comfort Newton somewhat, which is enough to make Hermann deem it a worthwhile endeavor. So far, Hermann had spent several visits with Newton reading _Hitchhiker’s Guide_ to him (Newton had tried to read for himself the first time, but, as it turns out, trying to keep the malevolent alien invaders of your mind at bay requires quite a bit of mental stamina, and Newton grows exhausted easily these days).

“Actually, if it’s alright, could we just sit? I’m feeling kinda washed out today.” Newton answers.

“Of course." 

Newton shifts nervously and Hermann suspects there’s something else he wants to say. His eyes are still closed, but he looks more at peace and more himself than Hermann can remember seeing him in the past weeks. Newton slowly opens his eyes, but keeps his gaze downcast toward his lap.

“Herman?” he asks quietly.

“Yes, Newton? What is it?”

“I want...I mean...if it’s ok with you...could you just hold me?”

He spits the last part out so rapidly that Hermann barely catches it, and he casts his eyes even further downward away from Hermann.

Hermann doesn’t respond for several seconds, surprised by the request. Newton, however, must interpret Hermann’s surprise as uncertainty, since he jerks his gaze up abruptly to meet Hermann’s and says with heartbreaking sincerity “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Hermann reacts instantly, shifting closer up the bed, wrapping one arm around Newton’s shoulders, and pulling him close to his chest.

“I know, Newton. I know you wouldn’t.” Hermann says soothingly into Newton’s hair.

Newton tilts his chin to look up towards Hermann and brings one hand to lightly rest his fingertips on Hermann’s neck, where lingering bruises still contrast pale skin. Newton trails his fingers along the fading purple imprints slowly and reverently.

“You’re not scared of me?” Newton asks.

Hermann uses his hand  to tilt Newton’s chin up so that they are eyes-to-eye.

“No, I am not.” he says resolutely.

Newton’s eyes are fixed on his own, cloudy with exhaustion, but intense. They are so close that Hermann can feel Newton’s breath mixing with his own. Newton wets his lips with his tongue and Hermann is suddenly struck with a glimpse into an alternate reality where they are sitting like this in their shared bed in their home together rather than in a military-issued cot in a cell in a PPDC detention facility. In that reality, Hermann ducks his head down to capture Newton’s mouth in his own. He softly parts Newton’s lips with his tongue as he pushes him back onto the bed and runs his hands up into his hair. In that reality, Newton moans shakily as Hermann slides a hand down the front of his pants, and uses the other to push one of his legs back. In that reality, they lie tangled up in their sheets and each other afterward, Hermann carding his fingers through Newton’s mess of hair as Newton lazily plants kisses into the dip of his collarbone. In that reality, Newton climbs out of bed and into a pair of ridiculous skinny jeans and the two of them head to some downtown restaurant that Newton’s been dying to try that supposedly has the best spicy tuna rolls in town, and Hermann sits across the table smiling fondly and watching Newton use his chopsticks to gesticulate animatedly while telling some story about who-knows-what. In that reality, Hermann takes Newton’s hand in his own on the cab ride home, and they walk into their apartment and Newton falls asleep curled up next to Hermann after one and a half episodes of _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ and Hermann falls asleep not long after to the sound of Newton’s soft snoring.

But this is not that reality. The vision is gone as quickly as it came, leaving Hermann with a tightness in his throat and a mental chorus of _if only if only if only._

“I am.” Newton murmurs into the space between them. “ _I’m so scared, Hermann_.” he says in a voice barely above a whisper.

Hermann wraps both arms around Newton’s back and then reclines so they are both lying down on the cot, Newton held to his chest.

Lying at this angle, Hermann catches sight of the two-dozen or so pictures taped into a makeshift collage on the wall across from the bed. These were something Newton had requested, and Hermann had been more than eager to facilitate. Newton had asked for photographs and other things such as newspaper clippings from any time prior to the last ten years that he could have in his cell to help remind him of who he—truly _he,_ not the monsters in his head—really was prior to possession by the Precursors. Once Ranger Pentecost had consented to this request, Hermann had worked to find as many photographs as he could to share with Newton. Most of the photos he had collected from various PPDC members. Mako had been happy to oblige, and he had also emailed Tendo to ask if he had any, and had received an envelope full of several photos a few days later.  He also already had some of his own stored in his workspace and quarters that he could provide. The first one he gave Newt was the photograph that he kept on his desk in the lab, the one that Tendo took of them ten years ago mere moments after they had played their small role in cancelling the apocalypse, and stood side by side grinning in giddy triumph. When he had handed the photograph over to Newton, Newton had held it in his hands and stared at it in silence for five complete minutes. When he had finally looked away, Hermann was sure he saw tears brimming in his eyes.

They lie there together in silence for some time, Newton’s head tucked against Hermann’s chest and Hermann with both arms wrapped tightly around him. Hermann can feel the steady rise and fall of Newton’s breathing against his own chest. Even despite all that has happened, and the reality that they now face, Hermann can’t help but find it reassuring: to have Newton there, breathing, alive, _with him_ , after so many confusing and painful years apart. They continue to lie there, and Hermann thinks that maybe Newton has even (blessedly) fallen asleep, until he hears him murmur into the fabric of his shirt “Hermann?”

“Yes?” Hermann replies.

“You won’t leave… will you?” Newton asks quietly.

And Hermann wants to say _Are you out of your mind? How could I ever? I am here for you and always will be. I’m not going anywhere. These past years without you have been the hardest of my life. Being without you felt like I was missing a part of myself. I’m sticking with you from now on, no matter what. We are going to fix you and you are going to be yourself again and the world will go back to normal. There is no government organization or kaiju or evil alien race that could ever make me leave your side again. I love you._

But Hermann knows that that isn’t what Newton needs to hear right now. Maybe someday, hopefully, but not now. What Newton needs right now more than anything is a friend to comfort him, not heavy confessions of feelings that he may or may not share.

So what Hermann actually says is “Of course not.”

“Thanks Herms” Newton says, and snuggles up even closer against him. Hermann can’t help it when he starts soothingly rubbing his hand in circles on Newton’s back. They sit in comfortable silence for awhile longer.

“They shot her.” Newton suddenly mumbles, his voice thick with exhaustion.

“Who?” Herman asks, confused.

“Boomer” Newton replies. “She deserved better…” He is truly slurring his words now. 

"I’m sure she did.” says Hermann, trying to sound comforting despite being somewhat lost at Newton’s non sequitur. _And so do you._

Newton falls asleep in earnest this time. Eventually, Hermann hears a knock on the door indicating that his visitation time is up.

He gently maneuvers Newton off from on top of him and onto the bed, somehow miraculously not waking him. He brushes a thumb tenderly across Newton’s hairline before standing and heading towards the door.

He would be back tomorrow.

  
  
  
  



End file.
